


Prelude to Disaster Bastards - Quintus

by Chaos_Elemental, fennfics



Series: Recipe for Disaster Bastards [3]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, RFDB, Sea Shanty II, Shared Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_Elemental/pseuds/Chaos_Elemental, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennfics/pseuds/fennfics
Summary: Many World Guardians from different universes have been invited to dine at Burthorpe Castle! Little do they know that they'll be whisked into a rather familiar adventure...
Series: Recipe for Disaster Bastards [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777126
Kudos: 10





	1. Receive Letter

You had to read through the letter several times: first to get a proper grasp on its contents with your stilted knowledge of modern language, then a double and triple take in disbelief.

You've been invited to… a feast? For… "exemplary service and leadership in times of great peril and need". What does that even _mean?_ Sure doesn't sound like anything you've been doing, holed up in this little corner of what once was Senntisten, two ages ahead of where you belong.

You dug up a gladius at the Dig Site yesterday. That's about the most interesting thing that's happened to you the whole month.

You can't recall having done anything that counted as leadership — given your general temperament, the associates learned to stop putting you on their research teams quickly enough. Service? Sure, you nominally "serve" the Archaeology Guild, but you know very well that you're only _really_ doing it for yourself — for your morbid curiosity about what happened to everyone you know and love, and not to mention your salary.

And "times of great peril and need"? _Please._ You've lived through times like that… several thousand years ago. The Fifth Age, in comparison, is a breeze.

Hmm. Come to think of it… 

Could the "Reservists for Devoted Brethren" that sent you this letter know about your Third Age origins? Perhaps, but you’re not sure _how._ No one at the dig site seems to have any suspicions (barring that one beardy redhead, who you've been meaning to investigate further); there's Aris, of course, but she reads all of Gielinor’s secrets as if they were in the morning paper.

Well… if Aris can know all that she does, maybe she's not the only one. She’s harmless, but someone else with that level of information may well be significantly less so — and considering that is enough to bring on some serious second thoughts.

There's a second piece of paper in the envelope. You _could_ check it out; as annoying and time-consuming as reading "Common" is for you, maybe it has details that might change your mind on all this.

… or you could spend your day off zoning out, thinking back on where you came from and how you got here.  
  
---  
[Zone Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23456185)  
[Read It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149394/chapters/60938509)


	2. Read It

Sure. Whatever. May as well read it. Maybe it's this one that explains everything... or, at the very least, has the name of the _real_ recipient on it. 

You trawl very slowly through the text, and there's something that makes your eyes bulge like an overinflated party room balloon: they're asking for your favourite food! Your favourite food!

As your heart begins to race just thinking of the possibilities, of all the things you haven’t tasted in years, you find yourself wondering: will they have any idea how to make palathai?

Well… they’d have to, right? If they know who _you_ are, then surely their infinite knowledge can at least spread to palathai. Even the thought of those delicious fig cakes has you salivating — which you have to be careful not to do directly onto the letter.

Oh yeah. There's no way you're not responding to this. The chance of finally having _proper palathai_ again is just too good to resist.

You'll feast like an emperor. It's about time.

* * *

The fateful day arrives, grey and early. You pair a nice pair of pants with your finest tunic — a rather fetching purple silk piece, put together for you by that fancy clothier in East Varrock — and finish the outfit with your last pair of shoes that aren’t caked with Dig Site mud. Envelope in hand, you’re off to see the wizard.

Aubury greets you with a grin as you walk in through the rune shop door. 

“Greetings, adventurer!” he crows. “What are you looking for today? Enchantments? Runes for spells? Perhaps you wish to join the Wizard’s Tower?”

“I would like a teleport, please,” you say. “One —”

“Say no more!” the wizard says. “Senventior disthine molenko!”

The world shimmers around you, and you find yourself in a mine, glittering with pale rock and snow. 

There is a pickaxe nearby. What do you do?  
  
---  
[Mine Rune Essence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149394/chapters/60939565)  
[Actually Mine Rune Essence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149394/chapters/60940333)


	3. Mine Rune Essence

Wait. No. You’re supposed to be going to Burthorpe, Zaros-curse it! You don’t have time to mine shiny rocks!

There’s a glowing portal nearby, which you stomp over to and enter. The world shimmers around you once more, and you find yourself back in the rune shop.

“Not there!” you snap. “To Burthorpe!”

“Burthorpe?” the wizard squints at you. “Hmm. There’s isn’t a standard teleport there…”

He turns around and opens up a drawer, which is crammed to the brim with a tangle of jewellery. “Let’s see…” he mutters. “Amulet of glory… ring of stone… ring of life….” 

He pulls out a gold cuff with a purple stone set in it. “Combat bracelet?” He looks you up and down. “Ah, perhaps not…”

He digs around in the drawer a bit more, before retrieving a sapphire necklace. “Here — this will do,” he says, handing it to you. “Just turn the jewel to the far-right dial, and it’ll take you right there.”

You dig around in your pocket for the payment, but Aubury shakes his head with an awkward cough. “Ah, consider it a freebie for the little Essence Mine mixup. There’s only one charge left on it in any case.”

You look down at the necklace. It’s actually rather pretty — keeping it once the enchantment’s worn out might not be a bad idea. And you do have a couple of tunics it would go with….

You twist the gem in place, rubbing over it with your thumb. You hear the faint sound of bells, and the rune shop begins to fade away, replaced by a rather drab town fenced in by a stretch of mountain. 

You’ve never been to the place called Burthorpe before — in fact, you’re too terrified to venture beyond where Paddewwa once stood. This town would have been on the outskirts of the empire, according to your map comparisons. 

And with good reason. Whatever this place was like in the Third Age, right now, it’s the _pits_. A constant drizzle pervades it, quickly turning your rather nice outfit unpleasantly damp. 

And, it seems, you’ve landed in the middle of a chicken coop.

You utter a curse, kicking away the birds that have begun pecking at your feet.  
  
---  
[Examine Chickens](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149394/chapters/60939658)


	4. Examine Chickens

Yep. They’re definitely — 

What?! You _know_ these are chickens. You don’t need to examine them to affirm that!

Shaking your increasingly aching head, you clamber over the fence, lamenting the fact that you’ve picked up a distressing _odorum pullorum._

You squelch your way over to the towering castle — clearly the location of this banquet, as opposed to the sad squat buildings around you — and pass by a battalion of guards in the middle of a march. 

Their commander barks out a command. The soldiers stop in their tracks, heedless of the rain. 

_“Attendatis!”_ the commander shouts. 

_“Sic!”_ reply the soldiers. 

Your eyes widen. Infernal? In this sad little town? A lost vestige of the empire, perhaps…

From the castle, you hear the clock strike. You jump a little, realizing your tardiness, and race over to the entrance. It does for a Zarosian to be fashionably late, though this century may have different tastes for their dinner affairs.

You wave your invitation at the guard by the door, who lets you through. Still damp, and still smelling of chicken, you march your way up the stairs.

As you do, you feel a prickle on your skin. There’s an odd lightness to the air — a taste of tin in your mouth, as you realize the hairs are raising on your arms. It’s a familiar sensation… one you haven’t felt since Kharid-et, in fact…

You shake your head. There aren’t any nasty little light-thingies around, and if there were, you’d steer well clear of them. Hastily smoothing down your hair and your clothes, you take a deep breath to brace yourself as you enter the banquet hall.

There are only three people present when you enter. There’s a blonde woman in what seems to be Saradominist armour. There are two men, too: one has dark skin and red hair with a dark sword strapped to his back, and the other has lighter skin and brown hair, wearing a rather nicely-tailored tunic and an odd-looking hat with what looks to be a staff.

The blonde woman is holding a rather large sword and staring at the red-haired man. She looks pretty angry. 

Defuse the situation?  
  
---  
[Defuse Situation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149394/chapters/60939718)


	5. Defuse Situation

You smile. “Hello!” you say, cheerfully. “The weather of the day. It is nice. Yes?”

There is a moment of awkward silence. Then, the brown haired man cracks a smile in your direction. 

“Oh great, another member of the Suckers Guild,” he says. “Did you also inherit Silverlight?"

“Pardon?” you reply. Is he talking about that replica in the museum? Come to think of it, that sword does look rather familiar…

Your speculations are cut short by the woman giving a seething glare on the same level as a praetorian, and you fight the urge to immediately hide under the table. The brown-haired man gives you an odd look, which doesn’t alleviate your unease.

“So,’ he says. “You’re here for the dinner as well?”

You nod, not trusting your shaky grasp of the local language — or that decorum would prevent the woman from ripping you to shreds. 

“Great,” he says. “I’m Jordan. He’s Riza — “ he points to the red-haired man — “and she’s —”

“Summer,” the woman says, not taking her eyes off of Riza. Her grip remained ironclad around the sword.

You cough politely. “Quintus,” you say. “Er. Are you aware of. Um. Other persons to attend this?”  
Jordan is giving you a funny look again, and you have the feeling he’s trying not to laugh. 

“A few,” he says. “With the way this is going, one of them might even bring the Staff of Armadyl —”

“What would _you_ know about the Staff of Armadyl?” sneered Summer. “Are you agents of that godsdamned dragonkin, too?”

Riza remains expressionless, oddly placid in face of her shouting. “If we were agents of the dragonkin,” he says, calmly, “I think we would have burned the place to the ground by now.”

Summer, reluctantly, seems to consider this. As she does, you eye the silverware set out on the table. Intricately crafted forks, knives, and spoons all gleam by the light of the chandelier, calling to you like a siren song.

The pay at the Archaeologist’s Guild is not very good, and the conversion rate for chronotes is definitely taking a dip. Your hand creeps towards the cutlery, slowly…

You feel Jordan’s eyes on you, though he seems to be grinning rather than expressing any admonishment. Even so, you snatch your hand back and try to give him an innocent smile. You didn't even _actually_ steal anything this time, so the charm should pay off.

“Just. Admiring. The smithing!” you squeak, barely audible by the end of it. Yep. Got that perfect charm down.

“Good going, Fingers,” he chuckles.

_Fingers? What does he —_

Summer interrupts your train of thought. “If you aren’t agents of the dragonkin,” she says carefully, “then why do you claim to have Silverlight? And how do you know about the Staff?”

This is getting rather awkward. Any more tension, and a fight might break out. 

Time for a different tactic.  
  
---  
[Interrupt Scene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149394/chapters/60939781)


	6. Interrupt Scene

Just as you’re about to try calling for a waiter, if only to find someone in this wretched place who’s not on the verge of murder, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps. The door to the banquet hall crashes open —

The woman who’s now at the door seems to consider full plate armour appropriate garb for a banquet. Like many adventurers, her armour’s the same style that Torva’s legion wore, often plundered by adventurers in this day and age. She's wearing a particularly nice hat, and as you take a moment to admire it, she takes her own moment to look around the room in abject surprise and confusion.

"Hang about. Is that Silverlight?" she says, squinting at the sword that Summer’s currently brandishing. "I thought I left that in Melzar's Maze. How’d you manage to get in there?"  
  
---  
[Continue (... in a different fic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923004)


	7. Actually Mine Rune Essence

Well, since you're here, you may as well make the most of it. 

With some effort, you tug the bronze pickaxe free from its rock and heft in both of your hands. It's not _much_ heavier than a mattock — you can probably handle this, right?

Now to tackle the mountain of slightly magical stone behind you. There are marks and clefts all over it from a hundred thousand pickaxes over the years. It's not _too_ hard to swing the pickaxe into it all, and break off... a chunk of essence which appears to be perfectly rounded, somehow? This stuff really is magic.

You store it in one slot of the convenient 28-slot void that everyone seems to have for some reason, and repeat the process until all of those slots are filled. You're actually kind of disappointed when you're full. You'd kinda got into a nice rhythm there.

Of course, you _could_ offload all of this into the bank and start all over again...

* * *

Fifty thousand air runes. 50831, to be precise.

You kinda got carried away with yourself there. The mining was actually a pretty good workout, and when you got to the Air Altar, there was some nice lady standing around who offered to, uh, "assist"? Which was an odd process of feeling her soul transfer into your body, with the only effect being to suddenly be _really_ good at Runecrafting. You don't feel like you learned anything from the process, but hey, massive stack of runes from it. Then you deposited them in the bank, came back, and there she still was. _Waiting for you._

You'd like to think the two of you got a pretty good thing going there.

Now to sell these. The Grand Exchange isn't too far a walk from the west bank, and the feeling of air runes weighing down your 28-slot void makes it quite a pleasant journey. It's busy as ever as you approach one of the clerks, show them one of the air runes, and ask: "What is the price?"

"86 gp," the clerk says as a stressful aside while wrangling a pink cow into the vault.

 **WHAT.** You swear there was a time when these things only went for _four!_

Hang on. How many of them did you make today...?

* * *

_Quintus retires from the Archaeology Guild early, rich on his air running profits._

_He forgets all about the banquet._  
  
---  
[Try again?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25149394/chapters/60938401)  
  
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [based on a true story](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/397475991418830849/730481776228696074/unknown.png)


End file.
